Things That Go 'Bump'
by bulletproof trucker hats
Summary: A short oneshot about Connor teaching at Hogwarts.  It might be lengthened into a series of connected drabbles, if there's enough feedback.
1. Chapter 1

Connor didn't trust blue eyes. Cordelia had blue eyes, and just _look_ at how well trusting _her_ had come out. And, for all that Holt had raised him (as best as one _could_ raise a child in a hell dimension), his pseudo-father had kind of fucked him over (as well as lying and generally manipulating his entire life), so Connor had no lost love for older, grandfatherly men either.

And the stranger who had arranged to meet with Connor at the Stanford quad had _both_ of these things going for him. He hadn't even opened his mouth yet, and Connor already kind of hated him.

"Mister Reilly," the stranger began, "my name is Albus Dumbledore, and I have a job offer for you."

"What kind of a job are we talking about?" Connor decided not to correct this 'Dumbledore' character on his surname. He wasn't a Reillyin anything but memory, and, though he'd wished to take Angel's last name after the Battle of Los Angeles, in remembrance of his fallen father, no records had survived of Liam, the man who would become Angelus.

The reply to his question startled him, though he didn't show it. "A teaching job at my school in Scotland." Dumbledore answered, blue eyes twinkling.

Connor snorted. "Man, I'm barely into my second year of college. I'm not even majoring in anything that would qualify me as a teacher."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Ah, but Mister Reilly, you are _quite_ qualified to teach the subject I had in mind."

Another snort. "Oh? And what subject would that be?"

_This_ reply had him reaching for a knife that wasn't there. (While Connor the Destroyer may never have gone anywhere without a weapon or ten- compliments of a Quor'Toth upbringing- Connor Reilly wasn't _quite_ as conscious about his state of armament.)

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Connor stared at the man, a bit thrown, and not quite sure if he was going to gut him like a fish for basically admitting that he was a sorcerer- magic and Connor had always been kind of unmixy things, after all- and said the first thought that emerged from the emotions currently making his mind their playground.

"I know a guy who would _kill_ for that suit."

If he wasn't, you know, a pacifist. And if Illyria was right, and he really _had_ set up shop in Las Vegas after the fiasco in L.A.

Because, really, what _wouldn't_ Lorne do for a magenta velour three piece suit?

* * *

><p><em>Hi, Goth Lolita here. Sorry I haven't updated anything in a while. Anyway, I would really love it if you guys could give me some feedback on this. I have a couple of chapters already typed up, but I don't know if I want to upload them if there's no interest. Also, I'm probably going to change the name of the fic, so any suggestions for that are welcome, as are any ideas you have for the fic.<em>

_So, please, read and review!_


	2. Chapter 2

Professor Reilly wasn't what Harry had been expecting. The new DADA teacher looked younger than even Gilderoy Lockheart had, and was in possession of a thin, slight frame.

He shouldn't have been as intimidating as his classes found him to be.

His brown eyes were haunted, sharp and suspicious (Harry recognized the look as one that was often on his own face) and the man carried himself like a soldier. He wasn't like Moody, didn't conduct his classes with cries of 'Constant vigilance!', but there were certain similarities, however slight, between the two. For instance, Professor Reilly twitched every time someone got too close to him, and he had his own personal flask that he carried with him. (Harry very much doubted that it was Pollyjuice, unless there had started making the potion whiskey scented.)

The first day of classes, the Gryffindors had walked in, to see the new professor twirling between his fingers, not a wand, but a _knife_.

He glanced up when they walked in. "Everyone here?" he asked, once they were seated. "Alright. Let's get right to the point." He thunked the dagger down on the desk, point first, making the children in the rows closest to him flinch. "My name is Professor Reilly. There are things that go 'bump' in the night. They will probably kill you. Any questions?" Ignoring the raised hands of his shocked class, O'Riley stood. "Class dismissed."

Professor Reilly may not have been what Harry had been expecting, but, in the immortal words of one Kingsley Shacklebolt, "You've got to admit, he's got style."

* * *

><p><em>Well, here's the next chapter, I hope everyone likes it. I have something like eight new chapters all typed, but I want some feedback before I post them.<em>

_Name suggestions for the titles are appreciated, as are reviews._


	3. Chapter 3

Conner seriously thought that Illyria had put some kind of former God-King mojo on him. Ever since the Battle of L.A, she'd been able to, and _did_, find him, wherever he might be. Sometimes, she even showed up to places before _he'd_ even been sure he was going to them. She claimed that he irritated her less than other humans, and maybe that was true.

Connor personally thought that Illyria was going native, picking up more human emotions than she'd like, and was seeking out his companionship for enjoyment of it, but he'd never raised that point with the former God-King herself. He rather liked his spine where it was, thank you very much.

Either way, it really came as no surprise to Connor when, one day, in the middle of a lesson on the proper way to kill a Frell demon (You stabbed them in the heart and then removed their head, but the tricky part was to avoid the acid it was spitting at you while you attempted to do so), the door burst open, and Illyria stalked into the classroom, in all her leather-clad, blue glory.

Unfortunately, it _was_ the middle of the lesson, and the interruption _did_ come as a surprise to everyone else, as evidenced by the sudden whispering from the students, who, no doubt, thought they were being stealthy. (They _would_ have seemed stealthy, but both Illyria and Conner had senses far above your ordinary human.) Connor realized, with a sinking sense of dread, that rumors would be circulating in every House and every year by dinner time. He _knew_ just how effective a school rumor-mill was -despite never actually _going_ to school- courtesy of his false memories.

He sighed, repressing the urge to slap a hand to his forehead, before turning to the young witches and wizards, who were now staring in awe at Illyria. Illyria, in true God-King fashion, pretended not to notice them.

He stifled a groan, and what came out instead was "Class dismissed."


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione's first impression of Professor Reilly wasn't exactly favorable.

When she'd first seen him, it was the first day of classes. The Gryffindors had walked into the DADA classroom, not knowing what to expect, and they had been presented with _him_.

Professor Reilly looked almost as young as her, and he had an American accent, which was an oddity. The man was sitting behind his desk, worn boots propped up on the wooden surface, playing with a wickedly honed dagger like it was a toy. On first sight, Hermione doubted his ability to teach them anything.

And _then_, he shocked the class by saying his 'things that go 'bump' in the night' line, and dismissing them. Hermione looked it up in _Hogwarts: A History_, later, and discovered that Professor Reilly's first class was one of the shortest in the entire time Hogwarts had operated as a school. Further discussion with other years and Houses made it clear that he'd given them all the same 'speech'.

No, Hermione's first impression of Professor Reilly was not good at all.

His second class was a bit different, however.

"As I stated last class, my name is Professor Reilly, I was born in Los Angeles, California, and I have spent most of my life killing things that were ripped straight from your darkest nightmares. In this class, I will teach you how to defend yourself against these monsters, because, again, as I stated last class, if given the chance, they _will _kill you. If I manage to teach even _one_ of you how to protect yourself, and the people you love, against these things, I'll consider it a job well done."

The look in the professor's eyes said that he had much too much experience in losing people he loved.

"Okay." He said into the awkward quiet that had fallen over the classroom. "We'll start simple. Who can tell me what a Hellmouth is?"

No one was all that surprised when Hermione's hand shot up into the air.


	5. Chapter 5

The first time Connor saw the Hogwarts house elves, he flipped a shit.

There were _tiny demons_ in this school.

Sure, tiny demons that cooked and cleaned and were just generally helpful, but tiny demons, all the same.

And demons in a school full of defenseless children just didn't fly with Connor.

Though he _had_ developed a taste for their treacle tarts.

(God, Holtz would have _murdered_ him for that, if he'd been alive to see Connor eating food a _demon_ had handled. He'd killed subordinates for less, back in the day. Not that Connor gave a fuck what the manipulative bastard would have thought. _His_ days of seeking Holtz's approval were over.)

And don't even get him _started_ on the stuff they taught in Care of Magical Creatures.

The professor of that particular class, a Mister Rubeus Hagrid and part giant if Connor had anything to say about it, had somehow managed to create a new kind of lower class demon, something he proudly introduced as a 'Blast-Ended Skrewt'.

In Connor's opinion, it would be quicker, easier and _safer_ to simply burn the castle and the surrounding forest to the ground, rather than trying to teach a bunch of untrained children how to defend themselves against the forces of darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

The first night at Hogwarts, Connor woke up screaming. It used to be that it only happened every once in a while, when he'd encountered something that reminded Connor Reilly of his life as The Destroyer. It was happening more and more often now, dreams of the Quor'Toth, of Cordelia and Jasmine, Holtz and Angel, the Battle of L.A, of things that hadn't happened and maybe could be and things that never would. Sometimes, the dreams and the reality mixed together, and, god, though he hated to admit it to even himself, he was scared.

He apologized profusely to his new colleagues, most of whom he'd woken up, and promised them- promised _himself_- that it would never happen again.

He managed to keep his promise for a month, before the nightmares came back. This time, though, after he'd apologized to the teachers he'd roused, he caught Minerva McGonagall on her way back to bed.

"Could you-" he began, hating that he was revealing what he perceived as weakness. "I mean…"

The woman raised an eyebrow at his hesitation, somehow managing to look stern and imposing, even in a tartan dressing gown. "Mister Reilly, with all due respect, _spit it out_." She said crisply.

_That_ reminded Connor of why he'd gone to _her_. She didn't take nonsense, and she wasn't afraid to speak her mind. She reminded him of an older, more refined Faith, and the dark Slayer had managed to make _quite_ the impression on him.

So, he composed himself, and asked his question. "I was reading about silencing spells in the library, and I wondered if maybe you could cast one around my rooms."

She didn't bat an eyelash at his request, something he was grateful for. And she questioned him only after she was done casting the spell.

"You _do_ know this is certainly not a permanent fix?" she told him. "There are other remedies- potions, artifacts, I'm sure they'd help considerably."

He'd read about the Dreamless Sleep potion, and the Pensieve, as well. But, the Potion Master, Snape, made the Dreamless Sleep, and Connor would rather not expose a weak point to someone as untrustworthy as Severus Snape. And he'd had no idea where to get a Pensieve, and he'd rather disliked leaving his dreams and memories out in the open, unprotected.

So, instead of replying, he smiled at the other professor, and said "Thank you, Professor. I promise I won't wake you a third time."

McGonagall frowned as she watched the young man walk away.


	7. Chapter 7

Connor honestly tried not to pick favorites. He was supposed to grade his students based on their merits, not on his _personal_ opinions of them, but that was proving to be a challenge.

And, really, these kids didn't _have_ any 'merits' to speak of. He was supposed to teach them how to defend themselves against Dark creatures, and, in all honesty, _none_ of them would last long fighting even _Lorne_.

One group, according to the gossip, _had_ gone out and fought, and _survived_, even. Harry Potter and his two friends, Gryffindors, brave of heart- and cocky as hell. Connor didn't particularly like them. They'd gotten too lucky, too often, and they were fools if they mistook that for actual experience.

On the _other_ end of the spectrum were Draco Malfoy and _his_ cronies. Slytherins, with sharp minds and silver tongues, clever as fuck and just as cowardly. (From what Connor has gathered, though, Slytherin was against all of the other Houses, so perhaps the 'cowardly' bit was just prejudice on the other three's part.) Either way, they were petty and backbiting, the _worst_ kind of allies.

The other two Houses weren't much better. While Ravenclaws were intelligent, they tended to over-think things, and overcomplicate. And the Hufflepuffs…they were just kind of _there_. Cannon fodder, clad in black and yellow.

Apart, the Hogwarts Houses didn't stand a chance against the things that go 'bump'.

However, _together_, they stood slightly more of a chance.

Connor stifled a sigh, watching Potter and Malfoy exchange snide remarks. It was just that getting them to work together, without _killing_ each other, was the problem.


	8. Chapter 8

The next class, they were instructed to gather outside the Forbidden Forest. Professor Riley showed up a few minutes after the last student had arrived, with a slim, brunette woman.

Whispers broke out among the children at her appearance. First, the blue-haired Illyria, and now, _this_ woman. (Quietly, lest Professor Riley hear, it was pointed out that the two looked rather similar, as did their attire. Obviously, the professor had a type, and he liked that type to wear an ungodly amount of leather.)

"Class, this is Faith." Professor Riley introduced. "She's going to be helping me simulate what a vampire hunt would be like, as Professor Dumbledore won't allow an _actual_ vampire on school grounds." The last part was said rather petulantly, and they could tell that the man was disappointed at not having a real vampire to work with.

"What could _she_ do to help with a vampire?" someone said snidely from the back of the group. (It sounded suspiciously like Draco Malfoy, and Connor made a mental note to dock points from the boy, later.)

Faith smirked, letting Connor explain, rather than do it herself. "Faith's a Slayer." He said.

More whispers broke out. "A _slayer_?" "Did he say 'slayer'?" "A slayer!" "The bloody hell's a slayer?"

Faith caught that last bit and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, a Slayer. You know, one girl to fight the darkness, she who hangs out in graveyards a lot." She frowned. "Except there's a few more than _one_, these days."

Connor took over again. "You're going to split into groups, which _I_ will assign, and see if you can take down Faith. Slayers are about as fast and strong as a vamp, so you'll get a good handle on your skills, and plus, we don't have to worry about her draining you."

The Dark Slayer smirked at the Destroyer, and there was something just a little evil about the expression. "Oh, I wouldn't bet on that."

The class paled.

Needless to say, Faith _destroyed_ them.


	9. Chapter 9

Professor Reilly just looked at them, as they nursed various bumps and bruises. A few complained, quietly, as they didn't want the full wrath of the man upon them, that he should be letting them go to the hospital wing. (Unbeknownst to them, Connor could hear them perfectly well, and privately thought the whole lot of them were a bunch of whiny brats. By their age, he'd been bandaging his own torso and dealing with demon bites. And, besides, they were lucky Faith had gone easy on them, or there would be far less bruises and cuts, and a _lot_ more broken bones.)

"I didn't expect any of you to beat Faith." He finally said. "Because, let's face it, you all kind of suck." He ignored the insulted gasps from his students. "Who can tell me where you all went wrong?"

There was silence from the students, who were busy glaring at him. He went on ignoring them, and continued. "None of you- _none of you_- worked together. I put you in groups of two for a _reason_, and _every, single one_ of you decided you were going to go at it on your own."

It was at this point that Harry Potter decided to speak up. "That's hardly _our_ fault! The people _you_ grouped together barely knew each other, and you were expecting us to win against a stronger opponent?"

Professor Reilly's gaze slid over to Harry. "Ah, Potter. _Your_ group was, by far, the _worst_." He said calmly. "Don't use the excuse that you 'barely know' Goyle. You- _all_ of you- have gone to school together for _years_. In a fight, sometimes, you don't _get_ that luxury of knowing your allies. You have to pick up their strengths and weaknesses on the fly, _while_ you're trying not to get the both of you killed. You all should have at _least_ some basic knowledge of each other's strength- or lack of, as it happens. The fact that you're in rival Houses shouldn't change that. Now. Your homework is to get together with your partner at some point, and _get to know them_. Faith will be back sometime next week, and we'll see how you all do then. Class dismissed."

As the students began to file out, Professor Reilly's voice echoed into the quickly emptying classroom. "Oh, Longbottom, Greengrass, you two did the best out of the class. Try and give Potter and Goyle some pointers, would you?"

Watching Neville's face brighten at the subtle praise (It wasn't often that the boy did well in something other than Herbology), Harry really wasn't sure if he hated the professor or not.

* * *

><p><em>Merry Christmas!<em>


	10. Chapter 10

They hadn't _meant_ to eavesdrop, they really hadn't.

It was just that Neville had lost Trevor again, and, after an extensive search of Gryffindor common room, they had come to the conclusion that the toad had made a break for it, and was probably adventuring the depths of the Hogwarts corridors.

Unfortunately, this realization had come well after curfew, and there was exactly _no_ way Filch would let them off, if he caught them wandering the halls after hours. (By this point, Neville was kind of sniffling, though he'd later deny it, and generally kind of freaking out about Trevor getting lost or stepped on or eaten by Mrs. Norris.)

So, Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak, and prepared to set out in search of the wayward pet. And, of course, Ron and Hermione weren't about to let him go alone. With all three of them squeezed under the cloak, and Neville waving them a tearful goodbye from the portrait frame, the Golden Trio set out to go toad hunting.

They had found Trevor lurking in, what Hermione had identified as, the Teacher's Hallway. Ron gathered up the toad, and the Golden Trio was prepared to head back to the common room, when voices from a nearby room drew their attention.

Which is where the 'eavesdropping' bit comes in.

"Mister Reilly, I don't believe I will renew the spells, until you agree to go see Poppy." The voice was undeniably McGonagall. And she was talking to Professor Reilly about spell casting and the Hospital Wing.

"I'm _fine_." Professor Reilly's voice was brusque and insisting. The argument had the tone of being an old one.

"You are most certainly _not_!" McGonagall snapped. "You're getting _worse_, if anything. Now, I don't know what you have against the Dreamless Sleep-" Reilly cut her off. "Professor, have you ever imagined what I must have done to wake me up with screaming nightmares?" His voice was cold now, and low. "Maybe this is nothing more than what I deserve."

He didn't elaborate on anything, and McGonagall didn't ask him to.

Harry, Ron and Hermione practically ran all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.


	11. Chapter 11

It _figured_ that Professor Reilly was evil. They hadn't had a _really_ evil Defense professor for a while, so they were due. After all his talk of teamwork and slayers and things that go 'bump', the strange teacher was probably plotting to kill them all in their sleep, or something equally nasty.

As Hermione pointed out, he didn't _seem_ evil, and they'd been wrong before- as evidenced by Professor Quirrel in their first year. Plus, Harry's scar didn't hurt around Professor Reilly, and the man had proven to be harsh but fair. He certainly didn't fit the profile of 'Death Eater', but, as always, Harry and Ron were quick to judge.

Currently, the two boys were plotting ways to reveal Professor Reilly's guilt, each one more complicated and ridiculous than the last.

"We could put Veritaserum in his flask!" Ron suggested. "Yeah…" replied Harry, mulling it over. "That could work-"

"Except Snape keeps his supply heavily charmed against theft, and we can't brew it ourselves, as it requires Class 1 controlled magical substances." Hermione snapped, not looking up from her Arithmancy text. "And _how_ would you go about getting into his flask to begin with?"

"We could _beat_ it out of him!" Harry said, with a decisive nod.

"And if he's _really_ a Death Eater, he's going to be absolutely _terrified_ of three school children." She said dryly. "Oh, and Harry, I think you've been spending a _bit_ too much time with Goyle. You're displaying a disturbing propensity for Muggle violence."

"We could use _Avada Kedavra_!" Ron said excitedly.

By this point, Hermione felt like yanking out her own hair in frustration, and was seriously questioning why she was friends with these two.

"IT DOES _DEATH_." She shrieked. "Why don't you just bloody _ask_ the man if he's an agent of the Dark Lord, and if he hexes you, it means 'yes'."

"If _who_ is 'an agent of the Dark Lord', Granger?" an unexpected voice said from behind them- Dear Merlin, they _had_ to stop discussing their plans in the library, it was entirely too easy for people to overhear them- and there was Professor Reilly, holding a book on Pensieves, and looking much too interested in their conversation.


	12. Chapter 12

Connor didn't like Mister Lucius Malfoy at all. Connor didn't really like a _lot_ of people, actually, but Mister Lucius Malfoy was currently pulling a close third on his list- after Holtz and Sajian, but before Power-That-Was Cordy and Jasmine.

The man had the _nerve_ to come into Connor's office and _suggest_ (read: subtly threaten) that Connor extend special privileges to specific students- namely the _Slytherin_ students. Malfoy was manipulative and sure of his authority over Connor. (He may have reminded him of Holtz, just a bit, and maybe that was why he didn't like the man.) Connor wasn't about to let that stand.

He rose out of his chair to face _Mister_ Malfoy, when there was a knock on the open door of his office. Connor glanced over, to see Harry Potter and his two friends- affectionately nicknamed 'The Golden Trio' by the rest of Gryffindor House- watching the showdown with wide eyes. "I'll be with you in a second." Connor spoke to them, never taking his eyes off of Malfoy. "I'm assuming Granger has a question about today's lesson?" At her hesitant nod, he turned his full attention back on Malfoy Senior. "So, where was I? Oh, that's right. _No_."

Lucius glared at him. (Connor had seen better glares from the Dushku demons on the Quor'Toth, and they didn't even have eyes.) "You'll regret this, you filthy Mudblood." The man hissed. Connor shrugged, wholly unimpressed. "If you say so. I think you can find your own way out, Mister Malfoy."

The elder Malfoy stormed past the three Gryffindors, on his way out of.

The Golden Trio exchanged glances, as Connor waved them into his office. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Granger. What was your question?"

More furtive glances, and Connor got the feeling that he was missing something.

"Sir, are you a…Death Eater?" Hermione asked, after a long pause.

Connor blinked at her, a bit thrown at the query. "A…Death…_Eater_?" he repeated slowly. "What the hell's a Death Eater?"

"You know, sir." Ron informed him. "_You-Know-Who's_ followers." The professor frowned. "I actually _don't_ know who, Weasley. And why on _earth_ would you think I was eating _death_, of all things? Because I'm pretty sure the house elves will vouch for me, I've been eating nothing of the sort."

Hermione giggled, despite herself. Harry and Ron looked at each other in confusion.

Either Professor Reilly was the best actor they'd ever seen, or he really _wasn't_ in league with Voldemort.


	13. Chapter 13

The students did marginally better in their second round against Faith. Connor told them as much- and added that if she'd been an _actual_ vamp, they would have merely ended up maimed, not dead or turned. By this point, though, the students recognized that as high praise, so they weren't as offended as they would have been at the beginning of the year. (Faith had snorted and said that they still stood more of a chance in _hell_, than against a Master vamp, so they took their compliments where they could get them.)

Next class, they were back in the classroom. Professor Reilly, when they walked in, was manually writing notes on the board. (Hermione helpfully informed the class- against their will- that most of the chalk in Hogwarts had been enchanted to write on its own, like a Quick Quotes Quill.)

"What can any of you tell me about the Scourge of Europe?" he asked, once they were all seated. The wizard-born students shuddered at the name, but didn't raise their hands, while their Muggleborn counterparts looked at them in confusion.

"No one?" Professor Reilly pushed. "Not one of you? Granger, come on, _you_ don't know?"

"S—sir?" Neville Longbottom surprised the class by speaking up quietly. Reilly raised an eyebrow at him. "What, Longbottom? Speak up!" he demanded. "_Sir!_" the boy snapped to attention. "The Scourge is a myth about a vampire who laid waste to Europe." (The rest of the wizard-born nodded sagely. The Legend of the Scourge was commonly told to misbehaving children.)

Professor Reilly nodded in approval. "Right on all but two points, Longbottom." He began to pace in front of the class. "One- there were _four_ vamps that were part of the Scourge. And two- they were very much _real_."

This proclamation was met with gasps from the wizard-born, for most of whom, the Legend of Scourge had been the source of many a childhood nightmare. One Ronald Weasley's indignant voice rose above the clamor.

"You can't _possibly_ know that!"

Professor Reilly fixed the red-head with a hard stare. "On the contrary, Weasley. I've met three of the four, personally." His stare turned inward, as if he was seeing something the rest of the class couldn't. "I was there when they died."


	14. Chapter 14

Connor had finally caved, and asked McGonagall about Pensieves. Teaching about the Scourge had raised memories of blood rituals and Power-That-Was children who ate people, and the battle of L.A. He was dreading falling asleep tonight.

Professor McGonagall directed him to the Headmaster. When Connor had stepped through the door to his office, the man had been all twinkly eyes and wise smiles and 'Mister Reilly, my _dear_ boy', and other things that made Connor regret not stabbing him back on the Stanford quad.

But, however much he may have disliked the man, he had a Pensieve, and Connor _really_ didn't want to relive some of the worst moments of his life.

Luckily, Dumbledore was not adverse to the idea of lending out his Pensieve- Connor got the impression that he'd heard about the events where he'd woken the entire teacher's hall- and, since Connor wouldn't be able to use it without a wand, the older man was kind enough to place a few choice memories into the artifact for him.

And now, the stone bowl had taken up residence on the desk Connor usually used to grade his student's papers.

And even though he knew he'd sleep without nightmares tonight, Connor didn't think he's be able to sleep easy, knowing his memories were so exposed and out in the open.

He spent the night staring at the damned thing from across the room.


	15. Chapter 15

Neville Longbottom actually liked the new Defense professor quite a bit. The man was harsh and asked a lot of his students, but, Neville noticed, he treated all the Houses equally and awarded points likewise. Actually, under _normal _circumstances, Neville probably would have been _terrified_ of the strange professor, but Reilly had proven to teach fairly, regardless of any personal favorites he might have had among the class.

Ron had wasted no time in spreading the story of Malfoy Senior and Reilly's showdown. Neville personally doubted that the two men had dueled while riding dragons, and Harry and Hermione had confirmed his suspicions, but, _whatever_ had happened between the two, Reilly treated the Slytherins- Draco Malfoy, in particular- just as he did any of the other Houses.

Hermione encouraged the Gryffindors to go to Professor Reilly's office after class. He was knowledgeable about his subject, and, Hermione said, filled with information that he didn't share in class. That in itself was amazing, in Neville's opinion, because the classes were absolutely _packed_ with information. Of course, as they'd noted early on in the year, the man wasn't particularly sociable, and getting that extra information out of him was like pulling teeth. (When Hermione had used that phrase, Harry had laughed, and said something about her parents being dentists, a joke the wizard-born children hadn't quite understood.)

Neville liked Professor Reilly because the man had turned Defense Against the Dark Arts into something _interesting_, mixing the defense portion with history of the things they were learning to defend themselves against. (Professor Binns had been rather puzzled when the test grades in his class had rapidly increased.)

But, above everything else, Neville liked the professor because he treated him just like every other student. It didn't matter that he wasn't brilliant, like Hermione, or influential, like Malfoy, brave, like Harry, or strong, like Crabbe and Goyle. He wasn't even 'that Longbottom boy', didn't have the stigma of his parents looming over him, making everyone look at him with pity in their eyes. In Professor Reilly's class, he was just…Neville Longbottom, and it didn't matter if he didn't know the answer to something, or if he got the answer wrong, because Professor Reilly didn't care, so long as he learned the lessons in the end.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry was so _done_ with these _stupid _dreams. He'd woken up screaming, his scar in agony, and had the other boys looking at him as if he were mad.

He glanced at the woman leading him through the hallways. _McGonagall_, at least, didn't think he was off his rocker. She was taking him to see Dumbledore, not Madame Pomfrey, and he doubted he would be missing a visit to the Hospital Wing, if the stern professor thought he was ill.

The Transfiguration professor stepped up to the gargoyles guarding the Headmaster's office, saying crisply "Sugar Quills". The statues moved aside, and McGonagall wasted no time in striding up the stone steps, Harry closely following.

There were hushed voiced coming from Dumbledore's office, but when McGonagall knocked, they went quiet. Harry assumed that the portraits were talking again, and, so, was surprised, when the door swung open and they were faced by Professor Reilly.

"Mister Reilly." McGonagall said in greeting.

"Professor." He shot back, and then, with a glance at Harry- "Potter."

"Oh, Mister Reilly, is that Harry?" Dumbledore's voice echoed out from his office. "Do let him in."

Professor Reilly stepped aside, letting Harry and McGonagall pass. Dumbledore was behind his desk, and the Pensieve, of all things, was in front of him, swirling with memories. McGonagall saw it at the same time Harry did, and, while The-Boy-Who-Lived was puzzled and more than a bit curious, the Transfiguration professor merely raised a knowing brow at Professor Reilly.

Reilly scowled back at her, and strode over to the desk, to pick up the Pensieve. "If you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I'll be taking my leave."

Before he could take a single step towards the door, however, Dumbledore interrupted his exit.

"Why don't you stay, Mister Reilly? Harry's story may interest you."

With a noise that sounded like a repressed snarl, Professor Reilly did an about face, and placed the Pensieve back on the desk.


End file.
